As You Wish
by Elialys
Summary: 'As she felt his lips tenderly graze her cheek, she couldn't help but smile' SPOILERS FOR 3x14. Smut smut, what happens after the scene faded to black...and then some other stories. POST-LSD story added May 4th
1. As You Wish  'Post 6B'

**Disclaimer:** I sadly do not own anything in Fringe. If I did, I would…nothing actually. I am very happy with the writers right now, yes yes.

**Spoilers:** MASSIVE for 3x14 "6B"

**Rating**: This is smut, people. M.

**A/N**: I have started this post-episode (episodic?) fic at 2am, after watching 6B. Once I had stopped crying. But then I was crying again XD And I basically spent every minute of free time I had this weekend on this (huge) oneshot. So yeah, I _will_ fail school this semester because I'm incapable of not spending my weekends writing polivia fics.

This story starts where the show stopped them. No "Fade To Black" here, uh uh, this is a smut fic for a reason. Incidentally, I am not a professional smut writer (I'm looking at the marvelously talented Kadyn, here), and smut is incredibly hard for me to write in English (it does require some specific vocabulary). But I did my best, and both Olivia and Peter approved. I hope you will too XD

Last note: I have been told that Peter channels Mr. Darcy in this, and now that I have seen the scene from the movie, he clearly does; you'll get it if you have seen the movie lol I guess it makes me an incredible romantic for coming up with it too lmao.

And I have just realized that this is my 50th story posted on ffnet. Double celebration! :'D

This is unbetaed, and written by an overly emotional and happy French fangirl. I LOVE YOU GUYS.

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**AS YOU WISH**

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As she felt his lips tenderly graze her cheek, she couldn't help but smile. Such a romantic thing to do. And as always when her mind was overpowered by a wild range of emotions, a random memory popped into her head.

"_Behind every cynic is a frustrated romantic."_

This was indeed going to be beautiful.

She opened her eyes then, and _looked_. She was almost surprised when she saw no trace of the Glimmer that had stopped her the last time. It was just Peter.

He looked at her inquisitively, obviously thinking about the same thing. "Am I glowing?"

She looked into his eyes, his beautiful eyes; they were bright again. They were twinkling with that light that had hypnotized her so many times before, and that had been missing ever since she had come back. Another thing Olivia had believed _she_ had taken away. But it was back, now.

And it was just _him_. No Glimmer, no fear.

She smiled, shaking her head softly. "No."

It was just Peter, and it was just her. If you had asked her two days ago if she would ever feel confident about _them_, she might have laughed. Life seemed to be a succession of one confusing event after the other, but Peter and what she was supposed to do about this won all the awards.

Funny what a few honest exchanges could do. Incredibly, Olivia felt almost serene at that instant.

'_I want_ _what you want.'_

Did he really want to spend his life next to her? To build new memories, to erase the pain of their pasts, to become so close that in forty years, they wouldn't be able to live without one another?

This was idealistic at best, and so unlike the cynic Peter _was_ most of the time. They didn't even know if they would still be alive six months from now. According to Walter, once the Universe really started to break apart, it could all be over very quickly. There would be no time for years and years of memories, of pictures, of traveling…of kids, maybe. There was no time for a lifetime spent with him, and Olivia knew that.

There was no harm in dreaming about it, though. In believing in it, in believing in the fact that there was still hope for them. Like he had told her, she had been the one stopping them from moving on, and even though she'd had valid reasons, she had a hard time remembering any of them right now, as she stared and stared into his eyes.

This was their moment. It was time for her to take _everything_ back.

And so she took his hand.

Serenity soon started to leave her again, though, as she led them to his room, fingers intertwined. The calm she had felt was now quickly being replaced by something rawer and more intense. With every step they took, the soft music coming from the hall faded away, and by the time they reach the door of his room, she could hear nothing but her pounding heart against her ears as it thumped beneath her ribs. This was not nervousness, not really. It still made her whole body react in different obvious ways, from her suddenly shallow breathing to her slightly quivering fingers. She ignored it all, entering his room, looking for the light switch.

But before she could find it, she felt his free hand on her cheek, and she turned to face him, raising her eyes to meet his. Despite the lack of luminosity, the sparkle in his eyes was still the only thing she saw, and the shivers intensified. His fingers gently brushed her chin, and he tilted his head, the softest smile on his lips.

"Olivia, we don't have to do anything tonight," he said almost in a whisper. "You know I'll wait as long as you need to. Having you here with me right now is more than I could have hoped for only two days ago."

Her chest tightened, her throat briefly closing up, almost swept away by his honesty, the intensity of his gaze. So she raised her own hand to mimic him, cupping his face and adoring the simple feel of his stubble under her palm.

"I know," she said softly, managing a smile.

She wanted to tell him just how much she wanted this, how much she needed _him_. But she couldn't say anything else, lost for words as his eyes and the feel on his hand on her face were enough to make her feel almost intoxicated. And so she did what she did best tonight.

She kissed him, pushing herself up, her fingers digging slightly into his cheek. He responded immediately, his hand leaving her face so he could wrap both his arms around her again, holding her body close to his, so close and yet not close enough as their lips brushed and teased.

There was no interruption this time, and so they both deepened the kiss by common accord, mouths opening. When her tongue found his, she was momentarily blinded by the sudden feeling of deep craving and raw satisfaction that surged through her, tasting him and the liquor they had drunk a few minutes ago, and feeling his hands grab her buttocks under her coat, pressing her harder against him and the fast growing evidence of his arousal; she moaned against his lips.

She got lost into him and into the feel of their bodies pressed so tightly together, incapable of keeping herself from rocking slightly against him, and soon it was his turn to groan. What had started as a soft and tender kiss was now a passionate and wild battle of dominance, none of them really willing to yield to the other, and yet both ready to break at any instant.

In one swift movement, he moved them around and she felt her back hit the wall, not hard enough to hurt her, but with enough force to send another rush of endorphin through her veins. His hands firmly pressed between the wall and her, she tightly wrapped an arm around his neck again, her other hand gripping his sweater so tightly that she might tear the fabric apart. Not that she cared much, really, because what little coherent thoughts she had left completely escaped her mind when he used his well placed hands to lift her up slightly. It opened up just enough room for one of his legs to come between hers, pressing his thigh hard against her throbbing core. She let go of his mouth with a rasping gasp, her head falling back against the wall.

He moved his hands, and she slid down slightly, increasing the pressure in the process, the rest of his body still maintaining her against the wall. He grabbed her scarf, which found itself on the floor within seconds. Since she was still gasping for air, head thrown back, her neck was now exposed, and he used the opportunity to bring his mouth down to her pulsing point.

When she felt his tongue on her skin, her legs weakened dramatically, and she moaned again; the delicious, throbbing ache she felt deep inside was almost unbearable. God she was so incredibly needy it was almost ridiculous. She felt so dizzy, so _close_ already, and they hadn't done anything yet. She still had her _coat_ on for Christ's sake!

"Peter," she gasped, pushing her hands against his chest, just hard enough for him to stop his expert exploration of her neck with his teeth and tongue.

He looked at her, taking in her flushed cheeks, ragged breathing and hazy gaze, and he couldn't help a wicked smile. "Head rush?" he teased her. But he did lessen the pressure, backing off just enough so her feet completely touched the floor again.

"Shut up," she breathed out, but there was a slightly groggy smile on her lips. She forced herself to let go of his neck, and looking down, she started to unbutton her coat with shaky fingers, because really, she was way too hot and there were too many clothes on her. But he put his fingers on hers, and she raised her head to look at him, forgetting to breathe again for a second.

"Let me do that," he said, and his voice was too low, too deep, sending yet another shiver down her spine.

Slowly, way too slowly, he unbuttoned her coat and the jacket underneath. And with every button he opened, he let his fingers brush her chest; even through the layer of her shirt, his fingers were igniting her flesh, and he had yet to touch her skin. He never took his focus away from her face, though, staring deep into her eyes; he perfectly knew just how much he was affecting her, judging by his small, almost arrogant smile. She shook her head slightly, trying to give him a glare that should have been disapproving, but she was approving too much to disapprove.

Eventually, the last button was opened, and he slipped both his hands inside over her shoulders, beneath not only her coat but also her jacket, and she melted again at the feel of his palms sliding over her shoulder blades, before he moved his hands deeper inside to get the clothes off her. She moved from the wall so both jacket and coat could fall away, landing in a heap at her feet, and by doing so, she completely leaned against him again. With a sigh, she pressed her face against his chest, eyes closed, breathing deep into his scent; as soon as her arms were free, she wrapped them tightly around his middle.

She felt dizzy again, but it wasn't because of their proximity. And yet, it was. She now felt emotionally overwhelmed, as she moved her head slightly to rest her ear on his chest, hearing the fast drum of his heart. She had been longing for that kind of _closeness_ ever since she had crossed back over and seen him sitting near her hospital bed. She had awoken feeling dazed, half convinced that this was a dream; until her eyes had found his, so sad and broken but oh, so _his_.

And once again, he had made her feel grounded.

_I'm home_.

What had she hoped for, back then? She didn't remember anymore, weeks of pain and heartbreaks having washed away the delightful feelings of optimism and happiness that had taken over her during those first few, ignorant days. All she knew was that she had wanted this; his body warmth, his scent, his breath in her hair, the knowledge that she could hold on to him and he wouldn't let her go.

"I've missed you…" she whispered against his sweater, eyes tightly closed, as his hands gently rubbed her back, slowly making their way up, and he brought his mouth near her ear.

"I've missed _you_." He whispered back, and then his fingers were tugging on her ponytail holder.

He gently freed her hair from the ponytail, but it still hurt slightly; the sting was bearable, though, just like the ache that invaded her heart again when she heard how he insisted on '_you'_. She knew what he implied. She sincerely wished she could keep _her_ away from her thoughts, from this room, at least for tonight.

But she knew it wasn't possible, not after everything that had happened. _She_ was going to linger on her mind, just like _she_ would linger on his. And she could deal with it, really.

She just didn't want him to lie.

So she took her head off his chest to look up at him, her hair falling on her shoulders and back as she shook her head slightly. "You don't have to say that," she said softly. "We both know you didn't know I was missing."

Despite the fact that there was no hint of accusation in her voice, she almost regretted her words, because he clenched his jaw then, the way he always did when he was upset, and she saw the pain flash in his eyes. But he brought his hands up to her face again, burying his fingers into her hair, and his eyes traveled over her face, as if he was taking in every detail.

"Olivia…" he said softly. "I might not have known that you were gone, I might have made myself believe that I was the reason for the changes…But these changes…She wasn't you. I see that now. And I've _missed_ you."

He kissed her forehead then, slowly but firmly, and she felt the possessive hold of his fingers in her hair. "I've missed you," he whispered against her skin. He kissed her cheek. "I've missed you." He kissed her nose, her closed eyelids, the corner of her mouth, and for every kiss, he whispered the same words, words that were digging their way into her heart, making it hard to breathe. "I've missed you, I've missed you, I've missed you…"

When he fell silent again, his face was so close to hers that she could feel his every intake of breath on her lips. But she stayed still, eyes closed, letting it all sink in, every feeling battling within her; she allowed herself a moment because she felt like she was on the verge of letting it all out, of breaking down again.

But this time, it wasn't caused by despair or sheer heartbreak like she had experienced weeks ago on her apartment's floor. This was rather the opposite; for weeks she had been sure that his own sadness wasn't only caused by the fact that she had rejected him. She had somehow been convinced that he was also missing _her_, missing that better version of her, and the note Simon had given her a couple of weeks ago had only reinforced the feeling that she was just not good enough.

Not good enough for him to look for her, in the eyes of this other Olivia, if not in that dark room in which she had been held prisoner.

But something had shifted, as she came to realize that he was choosing her. That it had always been her, and that the only thing he was waiting for now was her permission to let him prove it to her.

Olivia opened her eyes, and she was instantly swallowed by the depth of his gaze. It was almost enough to unravel her, feeling so exposed at that instant because there was no doubt he was reading deep into her soul. Staying calm and in control of her emotions seemed almost futile, she knew it was a lost battle; she could win almost every battle sent her way, but her heart was helpless when it came to Peter. But she remembered what she had told him last night, and what he had said.

"_Maybe I'm just incapable of being vulnerable."_

"_Olivia, come on, you know that that's not true."_

Vulnerability was terrifying, though; she had always done her best to be anything but vulnerable, because being vulnerable meant she had to let go of all her defenses, putting herself out there, bare and exposed. She was too used to always keeping some kind of wall around herself for her to just…let it go.

Yet, she somehow knew he would get every bit of her tonight.

There was nothing she could say that could possibly convey everything she was feeling at that instant. And so she crashed her lips against his, kissing him fiercely and quite desperately, but she didn't care. She didn't care because he was here and he was hers and he was kissing her back with the same amount of hunger and need. Within seconds her whole brain was fogged again, her body humming against his, every nerve under her skin awaiting only a brush of his touch to burst into flames.

Arms still around him, her hands grabbed both his sweater and the shirt underneath, tugging them out of his pants, and both his mouth and hands reluctantly let go of her as she pulled higher with every intend to free him of this layer of clothes. With his help, both items joined her coat and jacket on the floor, and she splayed her hands over his bare chest, feeling his pounding heart under her palm, goosebumps already rising under the feel of her hands, cooler than his body. To know that she was responsible for these reactions made her feel powerful. She took her eyes away from the more than pleasant view of his chest to look into his eyes, letting him know just how much he was **hers** without a single word.

With a low grunt, he brought her to him again, wrapping an arm around her waist, his fingers finding their way under the hem of her shirt. The feel of his hand on the bare skin of her hip made her gasp, but he swallowed the sound by claiming her mouth again, biting down on her bottom lip, and then soothing the plump flesh with a sweep of his tongue. She moaned, gripping his hair and pressing herself against his chest as the kiss deepened again. His chest was so warm she thought he might make her shirt combust, and she could barely wait to feel his blazing skin against her own; the simple thought of it was enough to increase the ache, which was back in full force, throbbing more heatedly than ever.

She was as intoxicated by his lips and tongue as she was by his hands, which were now moving all over her, apparently unable to settle, grabbing her waist, fingers tracing their way up her spine under her tight shirt, creating shivers of anticipation in their wake, palms on her cheeks again, hands back in her hair, and then they were back under her shirt. When he pressed his palm against her burning stomach, his fingers only slightly slipping beneath the waistband on her pants, she took a raspy intake of breath again, her insides contracting.

His fingers finally settled on the buttons of her shirt, and she opened her eyes, their darkened gazes immediately finding each other, as he obviously intended on never taking his eyes away from her tonight.

"Just tear it off," she breathed out, and he chuckled as he worked on the buttons, pressing a soft kiss on her lips. "I'm not kidding, I don't care, I have ten other shirts like this one."

"You might need a shirt to get _out_ of the house tomorrow, though," he said, amused, unbuttoning the third button.

He was clearly going as fast as he could this time, sensing her impatience and knowing she had a gun in her coat. But it still wasn't fast enough.

"I'll use one of yours," she answered, dead serious, staring into his eyes. She could almost see the thought process going on in his brain, as he pictured her wearing one of _his_ shirt. Wearing only his shirt.

Next second, there was a tearing noise and buttons went flying. She might have laughed if she hadn't been so desperate to get rid of her clothes now, to finally be skin against skin. So she helped him as much as she could to take off her ruined shirt, and as soon as it was thrown on the floor with the rest, she reached behind to unhook the clasp of her black bra.

He gave her a disapproving look. "Hey, _that's_ not fair; I'm supposed to do that."

"Next time," was all she said as this other piece of clothing slid down her arms, falling on the floor and leaving her exposed. Now he wasn't looking into her eyes anymore.

The warm flush in her cheek and on her chest increased, but it wasn't because she was feeling self-conscious. Oh she was feeling his eyes on her alright, but it only made her feel dizzier; knowing that he had already seen her naked -and more than once- was a very confusing concept to wrap her head around, but at the same time it erased all kind of nervousness she might have felt otherwise.

But as he _really_ kept on staring, she started to wonder if he was comparing, and heart squeezed painfully. _No_. She wouldn't allow her thoughts to go there.

But how could she not?

"Peter," she called his name in a whisper and he finally looked up at her again. Something must have shown on her face or in her eyes because he immediately brought his hands to her face again, kissing her softly, then firmly, then slowly.

She locked her arms around his neck, pressing her bare breasts against his chest, and as she had imagined, the warmth consumed her. He brought his hands down again, and slowly picked her up, until she wrapped her legs around him, her hair falling in curtains of golden locks around their heads as they kissed. He moved them around, and her stomach sank deliciously when he suddenly brought them down on his bed. She didn't move her legs from around his waist though, hoping that he would increase the pressure where she needed him the most.

But he was staring deep into her eyes now, and slowly, he grabbed her hands, bringing them up above her head. She could hardly suppress her need to arch against him. His lips found hers again, opened and welcoming, sharing yet another slow and passionate kiss. When she tried to bring her hands to his hair so he would get closer, always closer, there was a resistance. He was still holding them up on the mattress, with just enough force that she could not get away from his hold.

When he let go of her lips, it was only to start a slow descent down to her breasts, starting with her tensed neck, nibbling her flesh and tracing a sinuous path with his tongue, making her squirm, going down, down, until his mouth found her rounded breast. He blew cold air on her nipple, which somehow hardened even more, and it's all it took to make her moan; the sound coming out of her throat only got louder when air was replaced by the wet feel of his lips and tongue.

She was completely incapable of stopping herself this time, her back arching off the bed as he continued with his slow torture, trying to give both breasts equal attention; her lower abdomen was now a pool of liquid fire, as he sent not jolts but _waves_ of pleasure down her core.

"Peter…" she half-gasped, half-moaned, sounding desperate, feeling desperate.

She needed him, she needed to put her hands on him, but he wouldn't let go, still holding her hands pressed upon the mattress. Hearing her plea, though, he finally let her go. With a content sight, she buried her fingers in his hair, keeping his mouth exactly where she wanted it to be, as he brought his free hand to the breast his mouth was neglecting, and she fell deeper into the smoldering haze.

She eventually used her grasp on his hair to quietly ask him to come back to her, tugging gently. He complied, scattering kisses on her skin on his ways back to her face, and soon she was lost into his eyes again, into the feel of his body against hers, and she completely lost her grasp on reality when he started kissing her again, with so much devotion and hunger that it was almost painful.

This was far worse and far better than a head rush. It was true that she hadn't had sex since John had died, and that kind of frustration was definitely playing a part in her current neediness. But it was more than that, so much more.

He was everywhere, he was everything, the only thing she could see, the only thing she could smell and feel. And the feel of his body over hers, of his skin against her skin, mixing warmth and sweat, there was no word. She could hardly breathe, the air getting caught in her throat, blocked by a rising moan that she could barely suppress, until another one arose.

_Peter…_his name resonated inside her head, within her chest, _Peter…Peter…_thumping low, thumping hard, thumping deep, running through her veins and bringing her closer, always closer.

She was _too_ close.

"Peter," she gasped his name against his mouth, palms against his chest, trying to maybe create some kind of distance between their bodies before she completely lost herself. But he wouldn't nudge, and once again she found herself mesmerized by his eyes.

"It's alright, 'Livia…" he said softly against her lips. "Just let go. Let go."

And he lowered himself then, and even through the layers of their pants, the feel of his own arousal between her legs drew another deep moan out of her, until he muffled the sound with his lips. She clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh.

There was no more coherent thought in her mind, only him, only the feel of him as he thrust against her, and she met his hips, bringing her deeper into the aching and blinding heat. She knew she was beyond the point of non-return now; there was no point in fighting it anymore.

And so she let go.

She let herself go as he moved and she moved with him, and he freed her lips to stare at her as she came undone beneath him, shattering into a million pieces. And he was the only thing she could see, up until this instant when white light took over her vision, shutting everything down as she rid that wave, calling out his name.

The very first thing she realized when she came down was that the light around Peter hadn't gone anywhere. And she instantly recognized it. Her breathing, which was already unsteady and loud, became erratic, and he _knew_ that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, puzzled, bringing a hand up to cup her burning cheek.

"You're glimmering," she almost chocked, trying to catch her breath, but all she could see was the light moving around him, and she didn't understand, she _didn't_.

"Are you…scared?" He asked with a frown, and she shook her head firmly.

"Are you kidding?" she breathed out. "I just had the most intense orgasm of my life, and we still have our pants on."

He couldn't help but chuckle, the sound vibrating through her. "Well, maybe that's just it."

"What ?" She asked, one of her hand up in her hair now, still trying to bring her breathing to a study rhythm, but she was incredibly distracted by his…glowing state.

"What 'activate' your abilities –so to speak- are acute emotions." He said in his 'matter-of-factly' voice. "So far it's been fear, but we can obviously extend the list."

To both their surprise, she let out a snort of laughter then, and she moved her hand from her hair to her mouth, as he arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You…you've just _activated_ me," she managed to say, before she started laughing again.

It wasn't even funny, really, but she was feeling almost delirious, once again overwhelmed by everything happening right now, by all those conflicting feelings. Was she doomed to see him glimmer every now and then, now? She didn't really like this constant reminder that he wasn't from her world.

That he didn't belong here.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, concerned contracting his face now, and she realized just then that her laughter had turned into something else. "Olivia, it's alright." He kissed her cheek tenderly, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, closing her eyes firmly so she couldn't see the Glimmer anymore, forcing herself to calm down.

"I'm a freak…" she murmured against his skin.

He forced their bodies slightly apart, staring hard at her. "You are _not_ a freak," he said firmly. "Olivia," his fingers grazed her cheek, brushing away a lock of hair, before he ran his thumb over her lips. "You are…_extraordinary._"

Her breathe caught in her throat again, as they stared at one another, and she tried to swallow past the painful lump in her throat.

Never before had she felt more _vulnerable_, and he was telling her without the shadow of a doubt that she was extraordinary.

Before he could see the tears quickly invading her eyes, she brought his face down to hers, kissing him, kissing him with all her might, and it wasn't long at all before the ache was back, and with it the intense, unbearable need for him, which overpowered her again.

The time to get rid of their pants was way overdue.

She kicked her shoes off and he did just the same, not even stopping their kiss to do so. Her hands started to run down his chest to take care of his pants, but he beat her to it, moving her hands away gently, so he could take care of hers. He popped it open, unzipped it, and didn't lose any time this time, grabbing her soaked panties at the same time, sliding everything down her legs. Squirming and wriggling, she kicked the clothes off, even though she got incredibly distracted when he ran one of his hands along her thigh. But before he got to the most interesting part, he fully rolled off her so he could get rid of his own excess of clothing, leaving her completely naked and exposed. She instantly felt incredibly cold without his body against hers.

But he was back above her within the next twenty seconds, and she let out a loud sigh as every inch of their bare skins finally met. The sigh turned into a longing moan though, as she felt his erection press hard against her inner thigh. The fact that he was attacking the pulsing point of her neck with his teeth and tongue again only drove her wilder.

She felt so utterly intoxicated by him.

But now she could act, too. And she felt a surge of great satisfaction when he groaned against her neck as she took him in her hand, stroking him. She was done waiting, though, more than two years of foreplay being more than enough in her book, and so she brought him towards her entrance, only waiting for him to make his move now.

He raised his head, leaving the crook of her neck, and he gently leaned his forehead against hers, staring deep into her eyes. Both her hands were on his arms now, her fingers running over the strong flesh of his biceps. And she stared back, her whole body seeming to vibrate with anticipation and relief, because she felt like she was just where she belonged. He didn't ask her if she was sure about this, there was no need. Her eyes were dark and hazy, but they were also honest and confident. He still glimmered above her, but it was okay, it was okay, it was yet just another proof of how deeply she loved him. She squeezed his arms lightly, and he nodded almost imperceptibly against her forehead; supporting himself on one of his forearm, he brought a hand down to lift her up, and slowly, he started to enter her warmth. Air instantly rushed out of her lungs, swept away by the mere feeling of him gradually becoming one with her.

There was no questioning the fact that she _could_ live her life without him; she had done it, had been through weeks and months of loneliness. She could do it all, would do it all again if she had to. But nothing compared to this, this incredible feeling of completeness, and even if she could survive without it, she didn't want to.

He was so beautiful, the look on his face indescribable as he lost himself into her, moving, thrusting, hips grinding and meeting, finding a rhythm, and she moved with him, enthralled by the feel of him, the feel of them, but also by the sight of him.

His shining aura almost made him look like an angel. And he was all hers, hers, hers.

She voluntarily clenched her inner muscles around him to prove that point, and he moaned, closing his eyes and burying his face in her neck again as he pushed himself even deeper into her, her fingers digging into his back, now covered with a thin layer of sweat. And once again, she allowed herself to be completely rocked away by the raising wave, letting the warmth take control of everything, their bodies now moving together in a very feral way, opening herself up to him literally and figuratively. He brought his face back to hers, kissing her in a way that made her crave for even more.

Every inch of her skin seemed to be burning, jolts of electricity running through her body and igniting every nerves ending. She felt in phase, she felt complete and she felt so aware.

Too aware, she realized then.

Something was happening. She could barely figure out what, though, as her rational mind had completely been taken over by the sensations surging through her entire being. She opened her eyes and for an instant saw nothing but the glowing light around his face. But she realized just then what was wrong.

All around them, the air was shaking, quivering, being distorted by a force she knew came from her and her alone.

Anxiety suddenly washed over her, only to disappear a second later as Peter's next thrust brought her closer to edge than ever before and she moaned his name.

"Peter," she gasped, trying to clear her head, because this was not good, this was not good at all, she had only experienced this a few times and she knew exactly what was happening. "Peter, I'm crossing over!"

To her immense surprise, he _smiled_ at her and said: "I know, I feel it too." And on those words, he forcefully brought their bodies together again, and she forgot why she was worrying so much. "I've got you…" he breathed in her ear then, and she completely lost herself again.

When she went over that bottomless precipice of incredible bliss and fell down its infinite depth, they _literally_ went through the fabric of the worlds. She had no awareness of where they were or what was happening, but the intensity of it was nothing short of earth-shattering. She felt weightless, bodiless, it was only sensations and _him _and them, and god this was going to be the end of everything.

But as suddenly as it had happened, she felt the very real steadiness of the mattress beneath her, the air stable and unmoving, and she was very aware of Peter and the way their bodies were so tightly intertwined, both of them trying to catch their breath. She moved her arms and legs a little despite the fact that she felt _drained_, just too make sure that nothing had blended together. It hadn't, and that was a very good thing.

"Oh god," she exclaimed then, one hand in his hair, the other one in her own, and he laughed against her neck. "Oh god, Peter, tell me this wasn't freaky."

He raised his head to look at her, looking just as drained as she felt, but also looking _very _satisfied, judging by his grin.

"Peter, this isn't funny," she scowled, shaking her head lazily. "We…_crossed_ _over_, or something similar."

His grin widened. "Olivia, I don't think you realize what this means." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how many guys can say that they've made their girlfriend so _happy_ that she literally traveled between universes?"

Oh, of course he would choose to be a smart-ass about this. She glared at him, despite the fact that she was feeling way too spent and satisfied to be really annoyed at him. "Can't you take this seriously?"

He pursed his lips, rolling off her then, but he brought her with him so she was the one laying on top of him. "Tomorrow, maybe. Right now, I'm just gonna enjoy the naked woman in my bed."

She couldn't help but grin against his chest. She rested her cheek above his heart, sighing, knowing that it wouldn't be long before sleep took her. He was right; they could worry about this later. Ask Walter maybe…then again, no.

And then he spoke again.

"You do realize that it's going to make it impossible for you to fake an orgasm _ever_, right?"

* * *

**FADE TO BLACK**

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**A/N:** As if she would ever need to fake, right? XD Remember I was high on Polivia!Having!Sex!For!Realz when I wrote this.

And they forgot the condom *sighs* Mini!Peanuts everywhere.

Please come squee in a review, I would love you as much as Olivia loves Peter right now!

EDIT: I added a new chapter! Morning!After goodness for you guys :D


	2. After the Dawn 'Morning After'

**Disclaimer: ** I sadly still not own them. Even though I'm having quite a lot of fun writing about them since 6B.

**A/N**: Guys. GUYS *insert quivering, teary smile* I love you all, thank you so very much for the incredible reviews I got for the first part. After posting it, I spent my Sunday night and Monday crying basically, every time I got a review lol. I know I'm too emotional, but such a positive response was just overwhelming and unexpected, in the bestest way, and I'm very grateful.

So of course, I wrote more. More smut OMG. It's still a pain in the butt to write, but who cares, it's also way too enjoyable to stop XD So this is a Morning After fic, from Peter's POV this time. So you could say that it basically directly follows up the end of "As You Wish"…except that since I posted that fic, I have learned that Peter actually has a tiny twin bed (you can see it in 'Reciprocity' XD), so I had to experiment with that.

I don't know if I'll post more. I might just post ever smutty post-episode fic I write here XD

Please, enjoy! Ignore the typos and other silliness of my exhausted brain.

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**AFTER THE DAWN (aka Morning After XD)

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**

To say that Peter was not comparing them would be a lie. He was therefore grateful for the fact that Olivia hadn't asked anything at all about _her_. He didn't want to lie to her, and he had a feeling that the truth would only hurt her more.

Every time he tried to explain himself when it came to _her_, he always seemed to be saying the wrong things. And if he honestly told her: "_Of course I keep noticing the differences, from the details on your body to what I used to see in her eyes_," he was somehow positive that she would not let him see said body for a while. And this would be a real shame.

Her body, warm and _naked,_ was pressed tightly against his. They didn't have a lot of choice to be honest; his twin bed didn't exactly give them a lot of room. Not that he minded in the least.

He had no notion of time, except that it was definitely past 7am, as the sun was peeking through the shade. He would say that he had been awake for at least twenty minutes now, and every single one of these minutes had been spent simply watching her sleep, enjoying the feel of her, and wondering by what miracle she had ended up here with him.

Her right leg was over his under the covers, her foot having sneaked its way between his calves, thigh against thigh. He tried his best not to focus too much on the feel of _that_ warm spot against his hip; he hadn't even moved, neither had she, and he was already half-hard. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers slightly curled, warm palm just above his heart. He had wrapped and arm around her and she was using his shoulder as a pillow. He couldn't stop staring at her. Her face was turned towards him, so close to his that he had actually awoken with his cheek resting on her forehead; half of her face was pressed against his skin, and mouth agape, she was snoring softly.

She was the most endearing creature on Earth.

Of course he compared. He could force his mind to bury the memories of _her_ as much as he wanted, his body had memorized things of its own. It was flesh and instinct, and there was nothing he could do about it. So he allowed himself to think about _her_, to deal with these thoughts, knowing that they would soon fade away, as the reality of _his_ Olivia being here with him became his new constant.

The Other Olivia was never a snuggler, not with him anyway. _She_ would let him spoon up behind her, but if he woke up in the middle of the night, _she_'d have moved away from his embrace, and he would be facing her back, a gaping space between them in the bed. It was only during these last few days before the phone call that _she_ had actually started to stay closer during the night. He knew now that it was most likely because _she_ had started to sincerely enjoy their closeness. Not that it mattered now. _She_ was gone, and Olivia was here, the one he had always wanted.

She was here, and she seemed more than happy to share his tiny bed, forgetting all about personal space. For what may have been the fiftieth times since he'd woken up, Peter felt a wave of deep affection surge through him, adoring her so much at that instant it was almost painful.

Sure, he had felt more than content when he'd thought he was with her, but it had never reach that depth. He couldn't lie and say that he hadn't enjoyed the intimacy –the sex. Of course he had enjoyed the intimacy –the sex. But it _had_ been different from what he had spent the last two years imagining. _She_ had been different, oh so different, and he knew not a day would go by without him wondering how the idea of a Switch never even crossed his mind.

_She_ had been passionate alright, but it wasn't the kind of passion he had been expecting. It was all flesh and sensations, no _real_ connection. _She_ had been wild and giving, always making sure that his senses were overwhelmed so that his brain would shut down completely. _She_ was like a tornado, moving, always moving, so fast, so hard, their eyes barely meeting, and he had been too intoxicated to care. So what if reality hadn't met his expectations? They rarely did, after all. And that was alright, because she was so much happier, and he was happy too, and he had what he had wanted for so long now.

How could he not compare, now that he had seen and felt and experienced what it was like with _his_ Olivia?

She had given herself to him, entirely and desperately, with that intensity that was so hers. He had lost himself into her, into her soul, two open windows of glittering emerald, and they had spoken without words, like they always did. He had been shaken to his core, so relieved to feel it deep inside, this connection, knowing that they were in phase, meeting not only physically but emotionally, and it was beautiful, so beautiful.

She was beautiful.

He couldn't help himself. His hand came close to her face, almost longing to feel the texture of her silky hair between his fingers, to tuck it behind her ear maybe. But he changed his mind before his fingers touched the strand of hair on her cheek, reaching behind her instead. Slowly, decisively, he slipped his hand under the covers, and started to graze the smooth skin of her lower back, starting at the perfect hollow spot above her even more perfect ass, that his other hand was already happily cupping. He then unhurriedly made his way back up, up, up, over each vertebra.

He knew this was not a safe thing to do, really. She had been through so much in the last six months alone, that kind of unexpected touch could very well jerk her awake and make her jump at his throat.

He had always been daring, though, especially when it came to Olivia Dunham.

As it appeared, she was in fact feeling truly safe in his embrace, because she made no sign of waking up at all. That alone was enough to make him bask in a feeling of great satisfaction and love for a few blissful moments.

She might be engulfed in a deep sleep, but her body was awaking, reacting to his touch. He felt the shiver that ran under the tip of his fingers, all the way up to her head. When it had run its course, she let out a deep sigh against him, and he watched as goosebumps appeared on her pale skin, feeling her nipples hardening where her breasts were pressed against his chest. This simple, involuntary reaction, plus the sound of that sigh and the warm air it poured on his skin, was enough to send most of his blood south. It sure wasn't his brain and his 190 IQ that made him do what he did next.

Even though, admittedly, that part of him that was always excessively curious about everything was indeed very interested in finding out what it would take exactly to wake her up…and how far he could go before she came around. Now _that_ was something he could not compare, because the space between him and _her_ when he used to wake up in the morning always troubled him too much to allow him to even think about trying anything while _she_ was asleep.

His beautiful Olivia would not mind at all, though, he was sure of it. His fingers were still lazily tracing lines over her back, and he was more than enjoying the feel of the shivers it kept creating under her skin. He was already noticing a change in her breathing. For one thing, her soft –adorable- snoring had stopped, her breathing shorter, although still deep. She was clearly as reactive to him and his touch as he was to the mere feel of her against him.

Always so slowly, his left hand drifted away from her back, brushing over the curve of her hip and avoiding her stomach all together for he knew she was ticklish. Watching her closely, he slid his fingers between them, to this place that had been enticing him for a while now, pulsing heat against hip relentlessly. As soon as he touched her warmth, her steady breathing hitched, if only for a second, before she let the air out in another long, endless sigh that now started to sound like a low hum. Just like on her back, his caress was gentle but steady, giving her body time to adjust to his presence; he was also more than enjoying how she was reacting to such a light touch, far from being unaffected either. Mesmerized, he stared and stared at her face as he stroked her; every time he brushed her most sensitive spot, her face contracted slightly, brow furrowing, her lips starting to move against his skin, and the low hum coming out of her throat got louder and louder. Her fingers resting on his chest twitched in tempo too, nails digging faintly into his flesh. But she was still asleep.

_Not for long_, he mused with an inner cheeky smile, as he became bolder, sliding a finger inside of her warm core, and he was almost surprised by how wet she was. It may be surprising, but it was also very enthralling, and he felt more than emboldened by her response. She barely had time to twitch under his touch that he was expertly rubbing his slick finger over her bundle of nerves. He was not prepared for her reaction.

She buckled against his hand, hips moving to increase the pressure of his touch. But what drove him wild was the sound that came out of her. The hum had turned into a full, melodic moan that echoed through him, sending jolts of electricity to his nerve endings and low in his abdomen. It only pressed him on, as she rippled against him, her movement causing her head to disappear in the gap below his armpit. He could no longer see her face, but he didn't need to, as he felt her mouth pressing hard and opened against his side, her moans and ragged breathing muffled against him. It was as if he was swallowing the sounds, and each note was turning his inside into fire, building up his own fever. She would be the death of him, he was sure of it, because added to these sounds were the feel of her slithering against him, her nipples grazing his skin and rubbing the plump flesh of her breasts upon him. His one and only goal at that instant was to insure she would attain bliss, and that he would be the one to blame for every second of it.

There was no way she was still asleep; she had to be awake, on some level at least. It became clear that she was when her motions changed; she wasn't just reacting instinctively to him anymore, she was definitely _acting up _on it, moving against his hip and leg so to give his hand the chance to change its angle and reach more of her, while her own fingers started roaming over his chest, only stopping when he sent jolts of pleasure through her. When he added a second finger, curling, pumping, rubbing, she gasped his name against his skin, arching her back, and by doing so her face came into view again. She was so beautiful, her face flushed and already glistening, hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks; her lips were parted as she tried to breathe through his endless and delicious torture. Their eyes met, hers still dazed with sleep and clouded with a heavy haze of pleasure.

"Are you even for real?" she breathed out then, still rocking marvelously against his hand. "Or is this some kind of very good sex dream?"

He decided to move them around, then, using his arm still encircling her waist to roll them over, and sounds rippled out of her again when his erection came pressing down on her lower abdomen.

He brought his mouth to her ear and answered in a husky voice: "Real is just a matter of perception."

For reasons he could not understand, these words seemed to unravel her completely. She threw her head back into the pillow, arching up against him, and she moaned so loudly and beautifully he thought death might actually find him soon. Her hands were all over him now, palms caressing and nails digging, eventually wrapping an arm around his neck and burying her fingers in his hair in a luscious massage. Nestling his face in the crook of her neck, his tongue tasted her skin, and she was sweet and acre and salty and simply her, the best kind of liquor; his tongue wandered and his teeth nibbled, lazily but hungrily, following the rhythm of his fingers inside of her burning core. She felt like liquid heat beneath him, following the dance, wreathing, grinding, intoxicating him, her own lips and tongue pressed against his jugular, causing his own moans to join hers. When the hand that was not gripping his hair came down to grasp him hard instead, little white dots exploded behind is closed eyelids, groaning against her pulsing point as she stroked him with the same steady pace he had initiated.

God he needed to be inside of her again; she was so ready and responsive, he needed to feel her, all of her, her wet, pulsing, burning core around him. But she was so entranced at that instant, he could feel her quivering around his fingers, and he knew she was close; as she tightened her grips on him, he thought that he wasn't that far from release either. He should have known that she wouldn't let things follow their natural course without intervening somehow. She couldn't let him take control of everything, after all.

He was confident that she was only seconds away from climaxing beneath him when she abruptly let go of both his hair and shaft and proceeded to switch their positions again, hands pushing against his chest, knees encircling his hips; he complied, ending up on his back. She refused to let any kind of distance form between their bodies and skins, though, keeping her chest against his, grinding her pelvis down upon his, and he saw white light again. As she raised her head, her hair fell in waves around their heads, mouths inches away. Her eyes were dark with need; she looked like a possessed temptress.

"Sit up," she breathed out against his lips, and it took him a few blurry seconds to register what she had said, as she rubbed the entire length of her body against him again, leaving him barely able to breathe, let alone _think_. But he felt her leave his chest, then, and he focused his eyes on her. Kneeling next to him, she grabbed his hands to help him up.

The bed was _really_ small, though. As he sat up, it was his turn to pull her toward him so she would not go crashing down on the floor. She wrapped and arm around his neck, her other hand going back down, fingers grabbing him possessively as she brought her mouth to his ear, still panting. "Cross your legs."

He was far too gone and too eager to feel her fully against him again to disagree or question her instructions. As soon as his legs were crossed, she let him go and position herself against him, straddling him and wrapping her legs around his lower back. He more than approved of her choice, instantly loving how close their bodies were, her breasts rubbing against his chest with every little move she made; admittedly; all he could focus upon at that instant was the feel of warm center pressed against him, stimulating both of them quite efficiently. Her mouth crashed against his as a deep, longing moan escaped her throat, and he swallowed the sound, swallowing her whole. His hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as her tongue searched and found his, and they both rejoiced at this intimate and mesmeric meeting, her fingers back in his hair to kiss him deep, getting a low moan out of him. He used his firm grip on her hips to push her up and she followed more than willingly, abruptly letting go of his mouth when he started to enter her, gasping for air. She moved against him, rotating her hips, and she brought herself down around him, taking all of him.

She came hard against him, chanting his name, fingers digging into his scalp as she leaned back, pulsing, contracting and moving around him to extend her pleasure, and it took all his willpower for him not to join her right away, because she felt and looked like pure ecstasy.

As she came down from her heavenly heights, she didn't stop moving though, lazily rocking her hips back and forth, obscuring his vision with every sway she made. But his eyes focused intently on hers when she opened them again, barely able to breathe as he happened to have the most gorgeous creature on Earth all over him.

Her face was a bright pink, droplets of sweat on her forehead and cheeks, her eyes still heavy with pleasure and what he was sure must be the remains of the deep slumber she was still in minutes ago; it made him wonder if she was somehow still half asleep. It was unlikely, but she seemed completely liberated, almost unburdened. He had never seen her hair so disheveled, some of it stuck to her sweaty skin while wild strands stuck out all around her head. She looked both endearing and incredibly sexy. As she rested her sweaty forehead against his, panting against his lips, he let his love for her overwhelm him, adoring every inch of her and who she was, from the freckles on her nose to her quirks and her sometimes exasperating stubbornness. She was gorgeous, and her beautiful soul was all his.

"God you feel so good…" she whispered against his lips.

He wanted to tell her that she was the one who felt like paradise, because nothing else existed right now but the warm cocoon of her skin and heat and her gaze locked into his. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how he could honestly die right now and die happy, not giving a damn about sounding cheesy and romantic, or about how it was sure to destroy his cynic persona –he was pretty sure she had seen through it a long time ago anyway. But she changed the movements of her hips then, starting to go up and down instead of back and forth, and the only sound that escaped his throat was a choked up version of her name, pacing his hips to move along with hers.

Both his palms were splayed over her lower back, pressing her harder against him, knowing that the pressure there would increase her chances to come again and fully enjoy the ride. Sure enough, her eyes closed again as she let the sensations take over everything else. His whole body was on fire, every touch of her skin against his increasing the ache in his lower abdomen, knowing that release would soon come, so utterly lost into her.

But he kept his eyes opened, relentlessly watching her, because each change on her face was as intoxicating as the gasps and moans coming out of her. The way her face was contracting, lips parting, chest heaving, her beautiful body gracefully rocking along with his, this was his ecstasy. She looked so possessed, overpowered by the intensity of this moment, their moment, and she seemed more than willing to let it swallow her completely, to lose herself to him again, and god he just loved her, **HER**, only her.

There was _no_ comparing, as she opened her eyes again and they bored into his soul.

All _she _had ever seemed to be saying was _"Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes and forget everything_." But Olivia, what she was telling him right now was "_Look at me, look at me, look at me, I'm all yours." _

Something else was growing in her eyes, something he couldn't comprehend; it was the return of an ache, of that haunted shadow, mixing with the pleasure clouding her gaze. She brought her hands to his cheeks, moving her fingers, as if feeling him, making sure he was here.

She leaned in, pressing her nose against his, looking deep into his eyes, her breath hot and burning on his skin. "You're real…" she whispered then. "You're real…" rocking harder, deeper, and as her head fell back again, shutting her eyes tightly and moaning his name, two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

She didn't seem to notice, far too gone, but for a moment, these sudden tears were the only thing he could see, and concern managed to pierce its way through his own hazy brain.

He brought his hands up, entangling his fingers in her hair, wrapping her into his embrace and she slid her own arms under his, clinging to his shoulders. He didn't understand what had caused these tears, or what she had meant by saying those words, but he knew enough about what she had been through Over There to understand why she was still hurting.

They had never talked about it; all he had was the heartbroken words she had let out that night, what seemed to be a lifetime ago. "_When I was Over There, I thought about you, and you were just a figment of my imagination. And I held on to you._"

He had read the report she had written for Broyles as well, and these words still haunted him months later. "I spent several weeks in solitary confinement in Walternate's lab on Liberty Island. They experimented on me, as they tried to implant my Alternate's memories on me. I escaped the lab, but their drugs finally took effect. I lived the other Olivia's life for about three weeks, until my own personality started to take over again. When I tried to cross over using their Tank, Walternate put me back in solitary confinement."

What had made her personality win over her Alternate's again? Had she seen him? Was he what had allowed her to come back?

"_Don't apologize. You were the only thing that got me through. If it wasn't for you, I would never have made it back. You saved my life."_

The ache he felt now was different, as guilt tried to take hold of him again, adding up to the deep pain tearing his insides apart at the mere thought of everything that had been done to her when she was Over There.

But he fought back, allowing the feel of her all over him to become the only thing on his mind, because this, right now, her, it was all that mattered. They could get past this, they _were_ getting past this, and he would spend every remaining minute of his life proving it to her.

Using his grasp on her hair, he brought her face close to his again, sucking the salty drop between his lips, following the trail it had traced down her cheek, doing the same thing on the other side. He pressed his mouth to her ear then and whispered: "I'm real, Olivia. I'm real."

There were no more words after that, no more thoughts either, as she let herself go and he followed. He felt like he was both drowning into deep, heavy water and leaving the ground at the same time, as light as a feather. And she was the one bearing him down and making him fly, as their bodies rocked and swayed almost ferociously, almost too intensely, aching so deep for their delicious release.

He brought his hands back down against her back to keep her steady as she leaned back again, increasing the pressure against her most sensitive spot inside her core. He dropped his head to ravish her breasts, twisting his tongue around her hard nipple and sucking it between his lips, feeling her hands grasp his hair hard, and her hold become plainly painful as she was shaken by the force of her orgasm. But he didn't mind the pain, didn't care about the pain, because he was plunging with her, swirling so fast to the surface again, all the while falling from the sky, and he clung to her with all his might.

They actually literally kept falling.

His climax had left him completely boneless, and his arms were no longer supporting her weight as she was still leaning back, his head against her chest. He awkwardly and groggily tried to hold her back but his still trembling muscles were useless. She instinctively clung to his neck, and he tipped over with her. Her back hit the mattress in a muffled '_THUMP'_ as he tried his best not to crush her, falling half on his side, half on her, and soon they were reduce to a graceless, chuckling heap of limbs on his bed, his feet in his pillow. Funnily, they were almost perfectly mirroring the way they had been lying down only a while ago when he had decided to wake her up.

She buried her fingers in his hair, much more gently this time, and he nestled his face into the crook of her neck, feeling her unsteady breath against the side of his head. He was pretty sure she was _purring_, now, moving one of her leg, rubbing her toes against his calf. As she did so, though, the purring sound turned into what clearly resembled a moan of pain.

He raised his head to look at her, raising a inquisitive eyebrow. She smiled at him, a sated, happy smile that definitely contained a hint of pain.

"I'm so sore," she said then, before a laugh bubbled out of her, and he decided then that her laughter was just as delectable as all the delicious sounds she had been making moments ago. He tenderly kissed her jaw, his hand lazily caressing her hip and thigh.

"Does that mean we can't do this again today?" he teased, now kissing a sensitive spot beneath her ear, and she sucked air through her teeth, her body instinctively moving against him, and she was half laughing, half moaning in pain again, clearly enjoying his teasing despite her soreness. He stopped though, more than willing to give her body some time to recover –his too, incidentally; he still felt pretty boneless.

"Screw the pain, I'll deal with it," she concluded, digging her toes deeper into his calf as her hands languidly roamed his back. "Give me five or ten minutes, though."

He chuckled too, nuzzling his nose in her armpit, which caused her to laugh again; he was perfectly content right there, breathing in her scent, mixed with his, rejoicing again in the simple fact that she was so close to him, and she felt so incredibly good; he was starting to feel drowsy again.

And then, he heard her sniff the air. "What's that smell?"

He smiled against her skin, not moving an inch. "Well, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say it's us and all the sex we've been having."

She pinched his ass, and he jerked away from her hand, letting out a small, wounded sound, causing her to wiggle under him and soon she was laughing and moaning again, feeling very sore indeed.

"Why are you always such a wise-ass after sex?" she asked teasingly.

"Mmmm…" he answered, face still mostly hidden in her armpit. "It's PCSD. Post-Coitus -Sarcasm-Disorder."

This caused her to laugh deep and loud, and even though it caused her to moan in pain again, he still felt very content indeed, grinning like a fool.

"Seriously, though, take your nose away from my smelly armpit and you'll smell it too."

He pressed a kiss against the side of said armpit, just below her breast. "It's not smelly at all. It's very…Olivia-ish."

She snorted, and he finally raised his head, smelling the air around them. And indeed, even though all he could mostly smell was them, there was something else. He looked down at her, and they shared a knowing look.

"Bacon," they answered at the same time.

With a huff, he dropped his head back to his new favorite Olivia-ish spot. He didn't want to think about Walter right now, or the fact that they would have to deal with him sooner than later. Sure, the thought of warm, juicy bacon was almost making his stomach growl, because he loved bacon very much, that was fact.

But right now and for the rest of his life, he was choosing Olivia over bacon, and that was it.

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**********BACON BACON BACON **BACON BACON BACON **BACON BACON BACON ****BACON BACON BACON**

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**A/N**: I wrote this story especially for my fellow Fringies on Tumblr, because they are showering me with love every day, so the bacon allusion may confuse you if you don't have our knowledge about how "Everything is Peter/Bacon and nothing hurts" XD

Please, feel free to tell me in a review if you're still enjoying the smuttiness! It might inspire a shower!fic + Walter being Walter (it might actually be ready in my head).


	3. Midnight Run 'PostLSD shower fic'

**Spoilers:** up until 3x19 - LSD, so if you're watching the show, it's safe and off-canon *sighs*

**Rating**: Oh you know it's M if I'm posting here XD

**A/N:** Since you guys are enjoying those so much (MY HEART IS FILLED WITH YOUR LOVE GUYS), new installment in the smutty adventures of Peter and Olivia.

Here come my long awaited 'shower fic' (which almost never came to be because Real Life was/is a pain in the ***). Or rather my LONG shower fic hahaha. I've been told it was huge, and I thought about splitting it in parts, but I love it whole. Arm yourself, bring some toasts.

This really isn't the fluffy morning!after shower fic I first had in mind, especially since it takes place immediately at the end of "LSD". I felt like explaining everything they didn't explain on the show. So it's quite angsty, sorry. BUT it's mostly full of Peter and Olivia and their beautiful love. I love them so much ARGH!

HUGE hank you to Alex for her help (and unofficial beta work XD). All (numerous) remaining mistakes are mine.

Enjoy :p

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**MIDNIGHT RUN**

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When you had been through the emotional trainwreck that Peter Bishop had had to go through these last few months, there was something incredibly comforting in knowing that you could now tell when the woman you loved was herself, or when she was not.

And he was pretty positive that not many people were faced with that dilemma on a regular basis. But with his life being what it was, it hardly sounded odd at all. All that mattered was he had been faced with a test of a kind while deep into Olivia's mind, and he had passed it with honors. He had looked at this scared, needy version of her, and as he stared closely, he had simply _known_ that she wasn't her.

It was in her eyes, on her face, in her body language; something was just…_off_. That was a feeling he had painfully recognized, as it used to creep inside of him more often than not when he had been living a lie with the Other Olivia.

Among other things, Peter was a smart man, an extremely smart man, and as much as his mistakes weighed on his conscience, he always learned a lot from them. _'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'._

Peter would not be fooled twice.

Or thrice.

As he stood in Olivia's kitchen, he simply couldn't shake off that strange feeling again, that deep certainty that she was slightly _off_. He knew without a doubt that she was his Olivia, though; he knew her too well now, and on so many levels, not to be sure that she was herself. As always, it was especially in the way she looked at him. There was just something in her eyes that was unique. And yet, she was giving out a different vibe than what he was used to, and it was confusing his deepest instinct.

She had just spent a few days possessed by a dead man though, and had only become herself again after no less than three people roamed her mind to find where she was hiding. Add the amount of LSD and other drugs that had been poured into her veins and that might explain it all. At least, that's what he told himself to quiet the troubled voices in his head.

And if she were honest with herself, Olivia would admit that she felt it too. She did feel slightly off, but like Peter, she blamed it all on everything she had been through. Also, she felt strangely unworried.

On every aspect as it appeared, when Peter asked her who the man she had drawn was.

"I don't know, I've never seen him before. But I think he's the man who's going to kill me." And on those words, she took a bite of her toast, unable to refrain herself from sighing as she chewed.

The look on Peter's face was almost comical. He went from looking incredulous to disturbed incredibly fast; she was pretty sure the fact that she kept on eating her toast was disturbing him just as much as what she had said.

"Why did you say that?" he asked then, quite dumbly, obviously still in shock.

She shrugged, distractingly licking some butter off her lips, before taking yet another bite. "Don't know," she answered truthfully. "I just…know it, you know?"

He was frowning now,_ really_ frowning, the line on his forehead deep and unamused. She briefly thought that is was actually funny, that she was giving moods to his frown, and she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. This simple reaction only made him look darker.

"Olivia, you don't just _know_ that a random guy you saw in your mind is going to be your killer." He was definitely annoyed.

"I didn't say it wasn't weird," she approved, still amazingly calm, now absent-mindedly brushing some crumbs off her shirt. "But what do you want me to do about it?"

She took another bite of her toast, and a muscle twitched on his temple, as he briefly clenched his teeth. "Oh, I don't know," he said then, and his sarcasm was almost too blunt. "You seem to be taking the news of you presumably _dying_ fairly well."

"Don't be dramatic," she countered with a chuckle. "I didn't say I was going to drop dead tomorrow."

"No, you just said _that_ guy was going to kill you."

"Well, yeah."

"'Well, _yeah'_?" He repeated, now taking a few steps towards her, and he seemed to be unable to settle on one particular emotion. He seemed to be stuck between annoyance and confusion, along with some definite worry. "Olivia, you need to help me out, here. _How_ can you be saying something like this, and not be freaking out?"

She finished her toast, and could do nothing but shrug again as she chewed. "You've never felt like you just _knew_ something, deep in your gut?"

"No, I haven't," he replied, now sounding more annoyed than anything else, only a foot away from her. "And this isn't like you, to take it so calmly."

"And this is just like _you_, to blow everything out of proportion." She grabbed her second piece of toast then, and she saw the dismay on his face, as he stared at the piece of bread. "You changed your mind?" she asked then, talking about the toast.

He raised his hands and shook his head, eyes closed. "Wha- Olivia." He sighed, opening his eyes again, his irises dark. "Put the toast down."

That was not smart, and he knew it; she didn't like orders, any kind of order. Even though she was still feeling oddly off, it didn't change the fact that she did not appreciate it when someone was giving her an order with that kind of look in their eyes.

So, staring right back at him with a look of defiance that was all hers, she took a loud bite of her new toast slice. He clenched his jaw again, taking a step closer. "Olivia…"

There was a warning in his voice now, even if she wasn't sure what he was warning her about. All she knew was that she actually very much enjoyed how deep his voice had suddenly gotten; it seemed like those particular kind of low vibration was perfectly in tune with something that was starting to throb faintly, just as low within herself.

"Peter," she mimicked with a smile that was almost taunting.

He didn't like it one bit, even though she knew that their proximity and his rush of testosterone was not leaving him unaffected either. "Put the toast down, we need to talk about this."

He was ordering her around again; as if he had a chance. "I'm hungry," she said with a hint of irritation in her own voice now, despite the fact that she felt the sudden urge to grab his coat and make the distance between their bodies disappear.

She didn't need to though, as he stepped closer, dark blue eyes bearing into hers, pressing his body into hers, pinning her lower back against the counter. She couldn't help a longing sigh as she felt him against her after what felt like days. Which was actually indubitably the case, with the exception of that hug they had shared only a few minutes ago; their state of mind couldn't be more different though, and so was their body language.

He used her temporary daze to grab her toast and throw it unceremoniously into the sink. "And I'm _angry_," he replied then. "I am not amused, Olivia. Twenty-four hours ago, I thought I had lost you for good. Don't joke about this."

And behind the dark fury storming into his eyes, she could see the sheer helplessness in there too. Her own faint annoyance faded away, as she felt a surge of protectiveness flood into her. He was _really_ worried.

She put a hand on his chest, shaking her head slightly, never taking her eyes away from his. "I'm not joking," she said softly.

Unsurprisingly, his phone started ringing just then, breaking the mood quite successfully. He sighed, closing his eyes, before taking the phone out of his pocket and bringing it to his ear, not moving away from her.

"Peter Bishop," he answered, and then waited. His chin dropped to his chest, another defeated sigh escaping him as he brought a hand to his forehead. She had seen him to this enough times to know that he was upset. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'm _really_ sorry about this, Mrs Logan, a dear friend of his just passed away and he's a little…yes. Yes, I am aware of that. I'm on my way." As he hung up, he opened his eyes again, his tired gaze finding hers.

"Mrs Logan, your neighbor?" Olivia asked as he moved away from her, and she instantly felt the loss of his body warmth.

"Yes," he confirmed, making his way to the entrance door and she followed. "Apparently when she went outside to take the trash out, Walter was in the front yard, smoking some kind of drugs wearing nothing but his underwear." He stopped, his hand on the handle, looking at her again. "She made him go inside before someone else saw him and called the police. I think the only reason _she_ didn't is because she has a crush on him. Or had. I'm guessing he's just lost most of his charm."

Olivia frowned. "I thought he was with Astrid. Was it safe to leave him alone, after Bell's death?"

Peter's face darkened again as he looked away, letting out a tired, exasperated chuckle. "Don't," he said. "The last thing I need right now is a lecture."

"I'm sorry," she said, even though she didn't really sound sorry. She mostly still sounded oddly unaffected. "It's just…unlike you; you know him best, and how he gets in times like this."

He met her eyes again, now openly irritated. "Well that means we're both acting out of character tonight then," he said tersely, opening the door. "It was obviously foolish of me to leave him while he was sleeping because I was worried about your wellbeing. You're obviously doing fine. If you have any more death epiphanies, let me know. I gotta go."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing in front of her empty doorway, unable to understand how exactly his exit could be so different from the warm way they had greeted each other less than thirty minutes ago.

* * *

Olivia went for a run.

This in itself was most unusual –another odd thing she could add to her increasingly long list of odd behavior, and when this realization started to dawn on her, she had already been running for a few miles. The streets were mostly empty; it was late, past midnight for sure, and the thunder rumbling overhead seemed to have discouraged the late roamers. She had passed a handful of people as she ran, but feeling the reassuring weight of her gun secured in her thigh holster, she ignored them like she tried to ignore her own thoughts. It was after all what had made her go out into the night in the first place.

When Peter had left, she had been unable to shake off the feeling that this was not alright, none of this. The problem wasn't that it worried her, but that it _didn't_. Now engraved in her head was the face of a man she didn't know, but who would end her life, she was sure of it. On top of that, Peter and she had parted on cold and awkward terms, which hadn't happened in…well, it hadn't happened at all since they had started 'dating'. And she wasn't even that upset about it.

She was incredibly restless though, and when the intense desire to go outside and run crept into her, she barely hesitated. She put on her workout clothes and pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, knowing she was underdressed for the temperature outside, but not caring. She would warm up running.

And she had. Even though steam formed in the air with every steady breath she let out, she didn't feel cold. She didn't feel appeased either, and she had been running for a while now. It was just _weird _that she had felt the urge to run in the first place. It's not that she hated the activity, she used to run regularly when she was younger and studying, to keep up physically in the Academy, and try and work out the stress of her daily life. But in the end, she had always felt more relaxed finishing her evening runs in a bar with a few shots of whiskey. That was her thing. Alcohol and cold cases usually managed to take her mind off her most recent preoccupations.

Physically exhausting herself had never really worked. Actually, it was more something her Alternate would do. Run and shoot. Not to mention sex.

Olivia should not be thinking about sex right now though, not tensed as she was. And obviously because it took all of her weak focus off the sound of her feet beating the pavement, added to the new rumbles that filled the air, as Peter became all she could think about again. She kept going back to their last exchange.

She ran faster, the uneasiness escalating within her, because something was off, but what exactly? She wasn't running away this time, and she knew exactly who she was running to. She couldn't remember what had happened to her in her mind; the only thing she was sure of was that _he_ had been there. He had found her, and had made her feel safe again, and that was why she was running to him now, more or less consciously. He had been right; they needed to talk about what had happened. Maybe he had details about what he had seen in her mind that could explain why she suddenly felt so…liberated. It was as if a very heavy burden had been lifted off her shoulders, and she was now off balance. Maybe it was all it was; maybe all she needed was some time to get used to this new feeling of insouciance that was bordering carelessness.

But she knew there was _more_. And why on earth couldn't she just shut her mind up and just run?

She realized then what had been missing the whole time: music. Of course, she needed music to fill her head as she run, a good U2 song maybe. She brought a hand up to turn her earpiece on, but her fingers only met the cold flesh of her ear.

Olivia almost stopped dead in her tracks, as she realized what she had just done. Or tried to do.

Dread and a new kind of fear invaded her whole being in mere seconds, leaving her breathless in the middle of the sidewalk, one hand still up to her ear. This was beyond _not good_. The extent of what had been done to her seemed to be finally crashing down on her. She was so shell-shocked that she barely noticed it when rain finally started to fall, quite forcefully.

Her mind had been invaded once more, by no less than three people, and now, the dormant personality she'd had in her head for months seemed to be awaking up again. She couldn't lie and say that whatever experiment had been done to her Over There had left her unaffected, both physically and psychologically.

She had overtaken her Alternate's personality long ago, but even before all of this, she sometimes found herself doing things that were not really…hers. Details, really, more quirks than anything else. It was in the way she sometimes found herself standing with her hands crossed in front of her, in the way she smiled, or simply cracked her knuckles at times. Not to mention that impressive aim she seemed to have preserved. She had noticed it, but hadn't worried much about it because for one thing, they had much graver matters to deal with. And it was only quirks, hardly harmful.

But as she paced in the middle of this empty street, ignoring the icy rain beating against her skin, she felt petrified, her fingers having left her ear to dig their way into her tied-up hair. Forgetting that she wasn't Over There and that the kind of earpiece she had been looking for didn't even exist Here _wasn't_ a good thing. What if her Alternate's personality had been completely released and _she_ was slowly overpowering her again? In this new light, her odd behavior suddenly made a lot of sense. She refused to believe this was happening, not again, not after fighting so hard. But she couldn't ignore the evidences. Even Peter's confusion seemed to be confirming it.

Had he felt it? Had she been giving out vibes that weren't exactly hers, vibes that part of him recognized? As much as she hated to think about it, he _had_ been around _her_ for two months, and Olivia knew her Alternate, she had been her Alternate. _She_ could have been pretending all she wanted around him, there were just some things you could not change, and that liveliness that was so characteristic of this Other Olivia must have been all over Peter. He must have felt it, even _basked _in it.

With the most atrocious ache squeezing her now pounding heart, Olivia started to run again, quite frantically, with only one destination on her mind.

* * *

Peter woke up with a small start, and this simple reaction sent jolts of dull pain in his sore muscles, causing him to groan into his pillow. His fuzzy, exhausted brain didn't understand what had stirred him from his slumber, quite sure that he hadn't been sleeping for more than a couple of hours. He was so worn out that he hadn't even taken his shoes off, let alone his clothes.

The first thing he really became aware of beside his soreness was the soft sound of the rain falling against his window. That was odd. He doubted it was what had woken him up; rain usually tended to sooth him and rock him to sleep. But as said sleep slowly left his body and mind, he became aware of another feeling. It was a faint tingling sensation on the back of his neck, and comprehension hit him. He swiftly rolled over on his other side to face the door.

Olivia was standing in the doorway.

She was leaning against the frame, her cheek pressed into the wood, obviously staring at him. The room was dark though, the only source of light being a distant lamp from the street below that his unshaded window let through; she was barely more than a dark shape, her features blurred. The simple fact that he now knew she was in the room with him was enough to make his heart beat faster; as always, his body was so incredibly and painfully aware of her presence.

He groggily sat up, running a hand over his sleepy eyes, and as he did so, he fully remembered how they had parted a few hours ago. He looked at her tiny shape, not really sure about how they were supposed to handle this.

She spoke first, of course.

"How's Walter?" Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

He squinted his eyes as they were adjusting to the darkness, only now starting to really take her in. "He's fine, knocked out for good this time." Was she only wearing jogging pants and a tank top? And she looked positively _drenched._ "Were you in the rain?"

"I ran here," she answered in another whisper.

Feeling yet again confused and not entirely responsive, instead of focusing on the fact that she had _run_ such a long distance in the rain and in the middle of the night, he said the dumbest thing he could think of. "I didn't know you liked to run."

As she shook her head against the frame, one of her hands coming up to hold on to it, he realized then that she was shaking, and worry twisted his insides. "I don't," she admitted.

He was up on his feet in a flash, the last of his fogginess evaporating as he focused entirely on her, who was gaining consistency with every passing second. And while the wet aspect of her clothes and the raindrops on her pale skin became sharper, she on the other hand seemed to become smaller, quivering against the doorframe. He took a few steps closer, wondering why exactly he had ever felt any kind of irritation toward her earlier, because whatever had caused it, it was ridiculously irrelevant now compared to his aching need to wrap her in his arms.

He didn't ask _'Are you okay?'_ because everything in her body language was screaming that she wasn't. And in all honesty, part of him felt _relieved_. As much as he despised seeing her in any kind of distress, he _knew_ this Olivia; he recognized her anguish, way more than the disconnected behavior she had been displaying earlier.

"What's wrong?" He asked instead, softly, stopping in front of her; even though there was still space between them, he could almost feel the cold coming out her, their difference of body temperature almost outrageous.

She didn't meet his eyes, keeping hers on his chest, and he was left just staring at her wet face, watching droplets of water sliding from her hair onto her forehead and temples.

"I think _she_'s taking over me again," she said then, and even though her voice had been louder than her previous answers, it was also hoarse and defeated.

"What?" He honestly didn't know what else to say, hearing the words, but unable to understand their meaning.

She met his eyes then, and his urge to shelter her in his embrace became almost unbearable. "The Other Olivia's personality they've implanted in me. Whatever happened in my mind, I think it 'activated' it again."

As he always did when particularly shocked, Peter simply stared back, quite blankly, until a forceful shiver shook her body.

"Olivia, you are _freezing_," he said then, his worry for her current physical shape taking over anything else. He instinctively raised a hand to put it on her cheek, but as his fingers grazed her skin, she did something she hadn't done in months. She recoiled from his touch. It was barely noticeable, but nothing seemed more apparent to him, and to her.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "I can't let this happen to me again, Peter," she murmured.

Reluctantly, he dropped his hand, fingers closing into a fist. "Is it…similar to what you experienced Over There?"

They were both surprised by the technicality of his question, and it was her turn to frown, still looking incredibly lost. "What do you mean?"

"Does it feel like it did when it first happened Over There?"

Her hand left the frame then so she could wrap her arm around her quivering body, shaking her head again. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't…" She let out a shaky breath, obviously trying to concentrate. "I guess not," she finally admitted. "Last time, I couldn't tell what was happening. I was aware that I was _confused_, but I couldn't tell my memories from hers, until I became sure hers were all I had ever known."

Her lips looked bluish, even in the darkness, and he took all his will not to force her all dressed into the shower so he could pour warm water on her. But one of the very first things he had learned about Olivia was that when she set her mind on something, she did not give up; she honestly was the most stubborn person he had ever met. And he knew she could go as far as using the gun he saw on her leg to knock him out rather to let him drag her in that bathroom before she was sure she was going to be fine. Or that she was indeed losing herself again.

Surprisingly, as much as he hated how confused and scared she was, he wasn't excessively worried, his brain of his already working things together, putting pieces together, starting to understand the situation.

"I don't think _she_'s taking over you, Olivia," he said then, and she met his eyes. "I think I know what's happening."

There definitely was hope in her eyes, as she whispered: "You do?"

"When we were in your mind, you were hiding, because you were scared. Your entire subconscious was literally trying to kill us, even you. Walter and I both died in there, and according to Walter, the only way you could get 'out' yourself was by overcoming those fears. And I think you really did."

Olivia shook her head more strongly. "I don't understand. How does fighting my fears make me start to _act_ like her again? Peter, I went for a run in the middle of the night because I was frustrated and restless, that's what _she_ does, and for a moment, I tried to use the earpiece they all use as phones Over There."

"Alright, so maybe you _are _confused, and it wouldn't be surprising if with everything that has happened, some of her personality has leaked out again. But I don't think it is permanent, and we can ask Walter in the morning. What I think is happening is that…earlier tonight, you felt liberated, right?"

She nodded shortly, tensed.

"You may feel like you're acting like her because…because she doesn't have your burdens, Olivia." He knew this was a slippery slope to go onto, but it felt like the only plausible explanation. "She didn't go through everything you went through as a child, that's one of the things that shaped you both so differently. So the fact that you felt freed from this weight may cause you to act more like her because despite everything, she's…you. And you're her."

He watched as she tried to process what he was suggesting, and he knew she understood what he meant. But then, her face darkened, and when she met his eyes again, he knew something was wrong.

"How do you know that our childhoods were so different?" She asked, then. "She was pretending to be me, I doubt you chatted about our differences while snuggling."

He knew the slope would be slippery, but he not expect the conversation to take that turn; he felt completely unprepared for this. It had been so long since they had really mentioned _her_ at all, let alone the fact that he had been with _her_. He could lie, find an excuse. But he didn't want to lie to her ever again.

"I've read her file," he confessed then. "That's how I know. She mentioned the major differences between the two of you on several-"

"I know what she wrote, I've read it too," she cut him, her gaze dark. "Did you read them before or after you asked me not to, because you were afraid of what she had written about you?"

He swallowed hard, feeling the familiar deep sting of guilt enclose his heart. "Olivia…" he said softly.

"Come on, Peter," she insisted in a whisper. "Full disclosure, remember?"

He closed his eyes. "It was before. I read it before anyone else. That's how I could track down the Shapeshifters."

When he opened his eyes again, they met hers, and for a heartbreaking moment, the hurt in them was all he could see, until she looked away, shaking her head. She was still shaking from the cold, and maybe something else. He wanted to take her in his arms and redeem himself for having lied to her, but the cold emanating from her wasn't just physical anymore. It was as if he was to witness the wall forming between them, and to feel her so close and yet already so distant was more painful than anything else.

"Olivia…" he tried again, raising a hand to her face because he simply couldn't help himself, but she moved away from the frame, averting her eyes.

"I'm just…" her voice was weak and unsteady, the look on her face unbearable to him. "I'm going to take a shower to warm up, then I'll take a cab home."

And it was her turn to leave him standing in the doorway, watching her disappear into the bathroom.

* * *

In all honesty, Olivia was not feeling so good.

In addition to the psychological shock she had experienced, everything that had been happening to her those past few days was physically starting to take a toll on her. Soul possession, drugs and all. Running in the rain in the middle of the night with almost no sleep might not have been the brightest idea either. She had not only drained herself of what was left of her energy, but now that the adrenaline that had invaded her veins during her moment of fear was mostly gone, she was also left freezing cold, weak and shaky. She was painfully cold.

The water was warm, almost too warm, but it barely touched her skin. When she had entered the shower and let the hot liquid flow on her, the difference of temperature between her body and the water had been enough of a shock to bring her to the verge of fainting, her vision darkening incredibly fast, as her whole body went numb and unresponsive. She had leant her head against the tiled wall, one arm tightly wrapping itself around her middle, while her other hand went up to grab the back of her neck, where she knew the tattoo still burned her skin, burying her fingers into her wet hair. The water kept on falling steadily, but it barely splashed her back, keeping her in this contrast of hot and cold, the air around her chilly, raising every hair on her shivering body.

She was almost voluntarily keeping herself in this physical state; she felt so cold, and yet she knew the heat was just there behind her; all she had to do was to straighten up slightly and let it fall on her, but she didn't. Once again, she felt like warmth and happiness had been within her reach, and she was now stuck only inches away from it.

She wasn't mad at Peter. She was too tired to be mad at him. The fact that he had lied to her about reading _her_ file and about killing the Shapeshifters wasn't even what was upsetting her. She would be a hypocrite for blaming him for his lies, when she very well knew that his lies could be justified as much as her own lies had been, the previous year. The lies weren't what were hurting her. What was almost unbearable at that instant was the inflexible pattern of her life.

It seemed like every time she allowed herself to be filled with hope and optimism, she was quickly and painfully reminded of the fact that it wasn't how it worked, and that she was not allowed to bask in those feelings.

She remembered John. She remembered John regularly, with the kind of melancholy that came with long lost love, friends or lovers. Tonight, she remembered him for that hope he had breathed into her heart, the day everything had turned so black. When she had let herself _love_ him back out loud, taking a leap of faith, only to have fate slap her in the face.

Two years later, coming back from her two months Over There, she had felt hopeful again, then. She had felt the kind of joy at being alive that only people who had just escaped death could understand. It hadn't been her first near death experience, but she had _heard_ death this time, as the heat of the bone saw had grazed the skin of her back.

She was alive and she was _home_. She was home, and Peter was home with her. Or maybe Peter was her home. She had longed for this relief and hopefulness to swallow her whole, and may they swallow him too.

He had told her about _her_ instead, and it hadn't felt like a slap in the face this time, more like a blade in her heart.

Had she been a fool to let herself _try_ yet again? To let herself trust that everything could be alright? That together, they could be beautiful and happy? If only for the moments they spent together, because happiness was relative when you knew your world could crumble around you at any given moment.

She could not regret going to his house that night, though, letting herself live what she had been craving for for so long. But she should have been expecting what had happened. She should have known it would not last, she should have known something like this would hit her, sooner or later. She could hardly believe that a few hours ago, she had been standing in her kitchen feeling incredibly lively and _free_.

Now she only felt cold and lost.

When she felt his hands on her, she wasn't even surprised. Even though she had been too lost in her own depressing contemplations to hear him enter the bathroom and join her in the shower stall, that part of her that was always amazingly aware of him had felt his presence even before his fingers gently grabbed her shoulders. And it was with that same gentleness that was so his that he pulled her away from the wall, simultaneously offering her the warmth of his body along with the water's now pouring on her chest, trickling down her skin and insufflating heat into her flesh as it went.

Offering no resistance, she leaned back against him, her head falling against his shoulder as he covered the arm still wrapped around her middle with his own, silently praying her tremors away.

He hadn't planned on joining her.

When he had entered the bathroom, after spending a few minutes pacing in his room, all he had wanted to do was talk to her, refusing to let things get like this between them. But he knew the moment his eyes fell on her hazy silhouette through the steam-covered glass door that she wasn't okay. She wasn't moving, head against the wall, not even under the water.

He discarded his clothes in seconds, before slipping into the stall. Physically grabbing her hadn't been his intention either, remembering how she had recoiled from his touch a while ago; even if it killed him to see her react that way towards him, he respected her enough not to invade her personal space when she didn't want him to.

But it was not about respect anymore; even though she had been in there for a few minutes, it was clear that she hadn't let herself be under the water more than a few moments, her hair and body wet, but the way she was leaning forward against the wall did not allow the shower to warm her up, and she was still shaking, her skin pale and covered with goosebumps. He didn't hesitate.

Stepping closer, he gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the wall, offering her bare skin to the falling water. When he felt her lean into him, he briefly closed his eyes in relief, before wrapping his arm around her. She sighed against him, her own eyes closed, as he softly rocked their bodies so the water would warm her up equally. Slowly, the shivers he had felt running endlessly under her skin started to decrease, as their breathing, deep and slow, synchronized.

Always slowly and quietly, he reached out for the soap, and when he put some distance between their bodies, she turned her head slightly, eyes opened, but she looked away again before their eyes could meet. He poured some of the liquid in his hand, and then gently began to rub her skin, starting at her shoulders, slowly running his foamy palms down her back.

He could feel her tensed muscles relax under his touch, his thumbs digging skillfully into her flesh when he felt a knot. Soon, his fingers were creating another kind of shivers wherever they trailed. His reaction was to be predicted of course, and he closed his eyes again as his hands roamed over her hips and she let out another sigh, leaning back against him again, and he willed his body to _stop_ being so responsive, but it was hopeless. Reluctantly, he slightly pushed her body away from his again, before pouring more soap in his hand, and starting slow circles over her lean stomach, feeling her muscles twitch under his hand.

Olivia began to feel like she was floating, lost into the gentle feel of his hands slowly massaging almost every inch of her, with such tenderness and care that a painful lump started to grow in her throat, as she let herself drown into his touch and the water still falling on them, like a warm and comforting rain.

With every passing second and brush of his fingers on her skin, another kind of warmth was growing within her, faint and low at first, steadily becoming stronger and stronger. She was very well aware of the fact that he was consciously avoiding any part of her body that you would called 'private'; she couldn't bring herself to call them that anymore though, even mentally, as every inch of her had been entirely his for weeks now. But she knew why he wasn't touching more intimately.

Some other men might have used this perfect opportunity to physically get over whatever fight they might have had –if you could call it a fight. He was no fool, he knew her and her body so well by now; he knew that she was more than receptive and willing, not to mention the fact that it had been _days_. The aching need she felt for him was becoming stronger, steadier and more implacable by the minute. And when other men would have indeed taken advantage of the situation, Peter did not.

He seemed to be determined to prove to her that this was _not_ about sex, would not be about sex. He simply wanted to soothe her and warm her up. Even though he kept on slightly moving away from her every time she tried to lean back, in a desperate attempt to hide his own response to what he was doing, she felt the evidence of his desire against her quite regularly, and it was slowly driving her insane. She didn't want him to feel like he should hide it; he had no idea how incredibly good it made her feel, to know that it was she who made him react so strongly when all he had been doing was chastely cleansing her body.

She felt special and desired, powerful even, and it was an incredible feeling, because it mixed with the sensations he was creating within her, sensations she had absolutely no control over. And she needed him to know, she needed him to touch her without holding himself back.

His fingers still gently caressing her stomach, she felt him try and move away from her again, but she was not willing to let him go; she brought her left hand up to grab the back of his neck, unequivocally pinning herself against him and feeling the strong evidence of his arousal pressing hard into her lower back now. This sudden and exponential intimate contact caused them both to sigh loudly. She lay her right hand over his then, intertwining his soapy fingers with hers, and slowly but decidedly, she brought his hand down where she had been aching for him to touch her. When he did, his fingers sliding between her folds and applying pressure upon the bundle of nerves hiding there, she couldn't repress a moan, nails sinking into his nape, pressing the side of her face against his neck.

When she moaned and instinctively bucked into their joined hands, involuntarily moving against his hard-on, Peter had to close his eyes, swallowing back a moan of his own. After being physically and emotionally forced apart from her for the past few days, having her so close and so eager to be touched was indescribable. He was relishing into the feel of her, into those soft sounds that had become his favorite music.

He had tried his best to keep this innocent but as always, when Olivia decided on something, there was nothing he could do but yield to her will and try to keep up. This was no exception; she knew what she wanted and he gladly obliged. She directed his touch upon her, deciding on the pace and the pressure, and the way she moved and sighed and moaned against his neck, water trickling down her curving body, made him feel like he had taken another one of these sugar cubes, but instead of feeling it melt beneath his tongue, he felt her dissolve under his caress.

And she did feel like she was dissolving, lost into the rising heat within herself. She felt malleable in his hands, and he was the sculptor shaping her. He made her feel delicate and beautiful. Through the rush of sensations, she started to feel light-headed again, but she didn't worry, didn't mind. She was losing her grasp with everything surrounding them, this surreal feeling that she was floating increasing, as if she was a kite caught in the wind.

When she felt the fingers of his free hand on her cheek, she moved her head to expose her face, but she kept her eyes closed, panting as his thumb worked her so expertly, water dribbling into her open mouth. She felt his lips land on one particularly sensitive spot beneath her jaw, and when his warm tongue started tracing patterns on her skin there, licking the drops of water as if she was a melting ice-cream, she sighed his name, her grip around his neck so tight that it must have been getting painful for him. She felt him move his face by the way his breath brushed her skin, until his lips were near her ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered then, and she opened her eyes, instantly cranking her neck so their gaze could meet.

Her hazy eyes met his dark blue irises, so intense and focused that it sent another shiver down her spine; but she could see something else in there as well, guilt and remorse overshadowing the rest.

Not without some reluctance, she let go of both his neck and hand so she could turn around in his embrace, ignoring the way the floor felt unsubstantial beneath her feet, legs weak, because he automatically wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close; once again, none of them could help a longing sigh from escaping their lips at their closeness. She kept her gaze firmly locked into his, though, her fingers finding their way back to the nape of his neck, as she tilted her head, shaking it slowly.

"Don't," she said softly, then, and her voice sounded constricted; as always, she found herself too receptive to the way his eyes seemed to bear into her very soul, and she wanted nothing more than to get lost into his. "Don't apologize," she clarified, her fingers gently caressing the soft, wet hair at the base of his neck, as she offered him a small, painful smile. "Our lives are so insane…" she whispered. "Everything's so messed up. I _am_ so messed up… I don't want us to be messed up, too. Despite everything, you're the only thing that makes me feel normal."

She could read his storm of emotions just in the details of his face, in the way his eyes moved too fast, in the way he clenched his teeth briefly and swallowed hard. His hands came up to cup her face, tenderly, almost reverently, and when he tightened his hold, bringing her closer, she closed her eyes. Once again, when others would have undoubtedly kissed her lips, he did not, and she was not surprised when she felt his lips on her forehead. She was in all honesty incredibly fond of those simple gestures between them.

Peter was without a doubt the tenderest lover she'd had in her life, as she knew he would be long before she had experienced it personally. He could appear cold and rough when he wanted to, and he really _was_ at times when particularly infuriated, but ultimately, he had a gentle nature; anyone who had witnessed him calm his father down could tell you that. Soft touches and eye contact were very important to him, and his cynical side was no match to the romantic boy hiding within him. Passionate kisses were not a rare thing, but there often was a sweet purity to their exchanges that she cherished. She adored it all; the warm hugs, the soft kisses on her forehead or cheeks, the quiet moments spent cuddling, his nose nuzzling hers.

It was the sweetest caress, the caress of love, she knew.

When she opened her eyes, her breath briefly caught in her throat as her gaze fell on his chest. Though her legs still felt feeble and her whole body partially numb, she straightened up to take a better look, her eyes widening, the fingers of her left hand traveling over his badly bruised skin.

"What happened?" she asked, worry and confusion in her voice, and she raised her head to look at him.

He briefly looked down at his own chest before meeting her eyes, shrugging slightly. "You know how they say what your mind believes to be true can affect you physically? Well, I guess stepping in front of a car in your mind felt incredibly real."

She stared at him for a few more seconds before her eyes fell back on his bruises, her nails barely grazing his skin, over the nuances of dark and light, taking in what he had just said. She remembered him telling her that both he and Walter had died in her mind.

"You died for me…" she whispered then, almost in awe, finally resting her palm over his beating heart, proof that he was still very much alive.

His fingers still on her face, he tugged gently so she would look up from his injury, and she was rendered breathless by the intensity of his eyes; even though he didn't say it, she could hear the words.

'_Does that really surprise you?_'

It did not, and it was the most astounding feeling of all, to know without a doubt that there was someone in this world willing to give up their life for yours. It was also slightly ironic, knowing this wasn't even _his_ world. Sometimes, she still couldn't believe that they had found each other in this mess. It was as if they had been destined to meet.

Even when she was not physically and emotionally worn out, thinking about it tended to make her feel dizzy; tonight was no different, as she pondered the implication of such supposition.

It was in moments like this, when she felt overwhelmed and vulnerable, when Peter and everything he meant took hold of every inch of her, that she felt the words ready to come out. She could almost taste those three syllables rolling under her tongue, could imagine what they would sound like, uttered in the warm and wet and safe cocoon of this moment. It was like she knew exactly the way he would look at her after she said them, the smile that would lit his whole face, making him glimmer in a way that had nothing to do with the dormant drugs in her brain.

The words remained untold, though, because he smiled at her anyway, that small, warm, knowing smile, and she stared at his lips. This time, when he gently pulled her to him, she knew it wasn't her forehead he would kiss.

Peter fought his instinct to close his eyes as he brought her face to his again; he was feeling intoxicated by the sight of her, and he did not want to interrupt his contemplation.

He watched as her own eyelids closed over those beautiful eyes that had been telling him so much mere seconds ago. He loved to watch her when he was not supposed to, wondering if she had any idea how expressive her face was, at any given moment. He loved catching her off guard.

Their lips met, and even though it was soft and tender, it was enough to exponentially increase the heat within him, realizing just how much he had missed this simple, intimate contact in those past few days, savoring the feel of her and the way her brow instantly contracted, making that little wrinkle appear between her eyes. Their mouths parted and met several times, a slow dance that was steadily gaining rhythm as they captured each other's lips with a little more ardor each time, lingering a little longer, and he watched her traits twitched and relaxed, twitched and relaxed.

He felt the fingers on his chest dig into his flesh, while the ones still on his neck gradually travelled upward until they were completely buried in his wet hair; when he felt her nails decidedly sink into his scalp, he finally closed his eyes, unable to fight it any longer as she wrapped her other arm around his neck and pinned herself against him, pressing her luscious breasts upon him. The next time their mouths met, they were opened and famished; she was once again letting him know exactly what she wanted. She kissed him deep and long and possessively, and he kissed back, his own fingers now tangled into her wet hair.

The lust was there, there was _no_ denying the presence of lust, especially when their bodies moved in synch, in a way that was leaving no doubt about what they both were craving for. But kissing her was always more than just about lust.

So was it for her, evidently.

She would never forget their very first kiss, the one that had set the tone for all the ones to come. It couldn't have been more different from a kiss full of desire, even though there definitely had been longing that night when their lips had first met.

She had been longing for him to come back, for him to look into her desperate eyes and see how bare she was, standing before him, begging him to take her as she was because she had nothing else to offer, and she had kissed him with terror and hope in her pounding heart. He had been hesitant at first, almost passive, mostly purely in shock. Until he hadn't been anymore, his palm on her back bringing her closer, his other hand leaving his pocket to cup her face the way he had done before, and the feel of his fingers on her blushing skin had been like a whisper, an answer, a promise.

'_I hear you, I've got you, I'll come back for you.'_

To say that she felt that same kind of desperation every time they kissed would be ludicrous; they may have a tendency for intense, meaningful meetings, they _had_ enjoyed quite a few weeks of seemingly windless love before it all went to hell, and more than once their bodies had found each others with no other purpose than to indulge themselves into the greatly enjoyable pleasures of sex.

Tonight was not one of those nights, however. Tonight did make her feel slightly the way she had a year ago, desperate to hold onto him, to believe that whatever had happened to her would not cause her to slowly disappear. Despite the increasing numbness and dizziness that was melding again with the endless throbbing ache within her, she felt more herself in his embrace than anywhere else.

She felt both breakable and indestructible with him. It was as if his mere touch could liquefy her entire being, while the feel of his body against hers was enough to give her strength, to make her feel safe and whole.

When their mouths parted so they could get some air into their lungs, he found himself lost in her misty eyes, amazed by just how _many_ conflicting feelings she seemed to be battling with all the time, two emeralds glistening, pleading him to keep her safe. It made him feel both terrified and serene.

In all honesty, he never thought that she would ever be his, long before the Switch and the ensuing angst. He simply never thought that she would ever need him, not the way he needed her. Because despite the fact that she definitely found herself in need of rescuing more often than not, Olivia ultimately didn't need anybody but herself; she had proven it once again only hours ago, when she had fought her deepest fears.

And yet, there she was. Bare, exposed, raw, and so entirely _his_ that it made his heart ache. He saw it in her eyes. He saw her. And he wished she could see what he saw, so all of her doubts could fade away; he wished she could know what he felt so intensely.

There was no going back to before. She would forever be his weakest point and greatest source of strength, just as much as he was hers.

"I only see you," he whispered then against her parted lips, so softly that the sound of the water still falling upon them almost swallowed his words. But by the way her eyes widened, he knew she had heard him. "I look into your eyes, and I only see you."

He wasn't exactly sure what reaction he had been expecting from this admission. Watching her eyes roll back in her head as her whole body went limp in his arms was certainly not on his mind.

Sickening worry instantly washed over him as one of his arm kept her firmly against him, her head against his chest, fingers still in her hair.

"Olivia?" he called out, already feeling her coming around, as she started to stir against him.

Turning the water off, he cursed himself for letting things get this far instead of simply forcing her out of the shower and into his bed as soon as she had warmed up. Even though, again, he doubted he could ever force her to do anything. But her body had clearly reached its breaking point, and he was guessing her emotional turmoil was only making things worse.

Without a word, he eased them out of the shower, and she let him guide her, still obviously half out of it, her eyelids heavy and her eyes unfocused; she looked quite confused as he made her sit on the toilet's lid, grabbing some towels from the hanger. He hastily wrapped one around his waist before crouching in front of her, wrapping the largest one around her small, already quivering body, rubbing her back energetically to keep her warm. He then used a smaller towel to sponge her hair and gently dry her face off.

Her eyes never left his face as he quietly cared for her, but he barely met her gaze, focused on what he was doing, because he tended to get distracted so easily when that happened. He could tell she was completely aware again now, though still obviously shaky.

"This is kind of embarrassing," she said then, and she did sound embarrassed. He met her eyes; she looked both frustrated and mortified.

He shook his head slightly, offering her a small, tender smile, before leaning in to brush her temple with his lips. "I won't tell anyone you're a real human being, I swear."

When he leaned back, she was pursing her lips in a non-amused way, but the look she gave him was warm and grateful, even though still embarrassed.

"Let's get you to bed," he said then, reaching out for his discarded shirt.

"Well now _that_ makes me feel much better, thank you," she grumbled, and he found the fact that she was blushing terribly endearing.

He gave her a cheeky smile, unwrapping her from the towel and passing his shirt over her head. She good-humoredly slapped his hands away so she could finish putting it on by herself, trying to stand up then. He stood up with her because she was still wobbly on her legs, and she sighed in defeat when he put an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

They didn't speak anymore as they entered his room and he carefully closed the door behind them. When they reached the bed, he finally let her go and she sank onto the bed, burying her face into the pillow with a long sigh. He dropped the towel still hanging around his waist and joined her, pinning himself behind her, incredibly contented by the way she moved closer into his arms to make sure they were perfectly interlocked.

Olivia could really fall asleep in his embrace. She felt safe and warm at last, and the embarrassing fainting incident in the shower proved that she was in need of some serious rest. And yet, the instant he spooned up behind her, erasing any distance between his naked body and her, wrapping an arm around her under the covers, she knew she would not sleep.

Everything still felt slightly foggy and unsubstantial, except for the feel of him against her; this felt more real than anything else, and the way every nerve ending under her skin seemed to be crackling when brushing against his made her feel extremely awake in _every way _extremely fast. His breath on her neck alone was enough to send shivers all the way down her spine to the tip of her toes, imagining that he was doing it on purpose, when all he was doing was _breathing_. He was far from being asleep though, that much was obvious.

He was being very still, and when she started to shiver, his body stiffened behind her. All of his body. She could almost read his thoughts, even though they were both quiet and unmoving; he was without a doubt cursing himself for this inevitable reaction, as he barely had time to calm down after their shower foreplay. Instead of helping him out by remaining still, she enclosed the hand he had wrapped around her with her own, her thumb starting to draw slow circles on his skin; then, she began to move against him.

It was almost imperceptible at first, following the same unhurried motions with which her thumb was tracing pattern on his hand. But pinned as they were, he felt every slight move her body, and for a moment, the steady breath on her neck stopped all together, until she became bolder, now moving against him way more suggestively. Warm air came pouring onto her skin as he tightened his arm around her to hold her more firmly against him, maybe trying to stop her; she felt his opened lips on the base of her neck, drawing a loud sigh out of her.

"Olivia," he almost choked. "Don't."

But she felt unstoppable now, every part of her fully awake and throbbing with need and frustration. She turned around in his arms to face him, pressing her forehead against his; she swiftly wrapped a leg around him so their bodies would be as close as they could possibly be without being joined.

She slid her fingers in his hair, hungry lips finding his, her tongue seeking his with the same aching longing with which their hips met, as she swayed against him quite unambiguously. She swallowed his moan just like he swallowed hers, and she knew she would get whatever she wanted when his hands grabbed her buttocks to increase the contact of his throbbing shaft against her equally burning core. She had to let go of his mouth, throwing her head back and sighing his name as his lips found her exposed neck.

They were not coherent anymore, both of them directed by this primeval and raw desire that they couldn't fight, even though Peter tried to. He really did.

This was beyond reasonable; she was exhausted, she had _fainted_ in his arms for Christ's sake, and if he were honest with himself, physically, he had seen better days, even though all of his soreness had been soothed by the endorphins now flooding his bloodstream.

But she was yet again giving him absolutely no choice, moving against him in the most tempting way and she felt so incredibly good and how could he not succumb to her? He had no idea how she did it, but he was completely powerless against her, especially when he felt so intoxicated by her entire being.

Wiggling, rolling, tugging, she managed to slip under him, and as always he was quite amazed by how tiny she really was in his arms; she fit perfectly. She was gorgeous, her wet hair spread on his pillow while her smoldering body melted in his hands; hands that had minds of their own he soon realized when they urgently found their way under her shirt, fingers and palms splaying over the silky skin of her back. He pulled her to him, causing her to arch up against him and to utter his name once more, in a moan that was soon muffled by his mouth as he covered hers, feeling her arms encircling his neck again so to kiss him deeply and languidly.

Olivia felt like she was literally burning up, which was not too far from the truth as her entire being was possessed by this merciless heat, feeling his own body warmth seep into her even through the fabric of the shirt she was wearing. She felt almost delirious from this fever, lost into the feel of him, of his hands keeping her so close and yet not close enough, of his lips and tongue and the continuous tease of his erection against her.

That was until he abruptly let go of her mouth and brought his hands out from under her shirt, pushing himself up on trembling arms so to create some distance between their bodies, resting his forehead on her shoulder, and she felt the dampness of his skin being absorbed by her shirt.

"Olivia, we shouldn't," he said then, his breathing labored, and this was clearly demanding every ounce of willpower he possessed. "You need to sleep, you need rest…"

He knew it was almost ridiculous to be uttering those words; judging by both their states, the only way they would ever be able to find sleep would be if she actually left the bed, left the house all together and he went back into the shower, under very, very cold water.

She knew that as well, and when she could have playfully laughed it off by pointing out this obvious fact, laughing was the last thing on her mind. In fact, she found herself loving him even more for this desperate attempt, knowing that he was simply and truly worried about her wellbeing. She loved him for being so caring, for being so comforting and so devoted.

She loved him and that was the cause of her deepest aches, because she longed for that moment when she would physically become part of him again as much as he would be part of her.

It was her turn to cup his face so he would raise his head, and she gently rubbed her cheek against his stubble. Every inch of her was so sensitive at that instant that the rough texture of it on her soft skin was a delicious caress made of thousands of thorns.

She pressed her nose against his then, nuzzling slightly, her breath hot on his lips. And he stared into her eyes, the ink of her pupils having spread so much that it had swallowed most of the green, and he felt her hand on the back of his neck again, her thumb ruffling his short hair.

"Peter," she whispered, and the way she said his name always had such a power on him, making him feel like she was reaching out for his very soul. "I need you."

And they both knew it was the closest she had ever been to saying those three other words, four letters making all the difference, and yet it didn't, because he heard them anyway. He read them in her eyes, and then on her face when her eyelids closed and her brow contracted again, her hands coming down; down along the strong muscles of his back, down over the curve of his buttocks, stopping there and grabbing the flesh decidedly, raising her knees to encase his hips. She opened her eyes again, and there was a plea in her gaze as she whispered the same words again against his lips. "I need you…I need you…"

And so, without another word or thought, never taking his eyes away from hers, he brought himself down and entered her almost fully in one move, encouraged by the way she used her hands to push him in, rewarded by the deep, harmonic moan that escaped her throat and reverberated through him, causing him to lose himself completely into her; her eyes, her voice, her scent, her core, there was no escape, she was everything he was breathing and soon tasting again as he captured her swollen lips, and he felt like he was being smothered and did not care because death had her freckles and her smile.

She was feeling whole again, whole and alive, vibrant even, all of her senses overwhelmed as they started to dance, her legs now tightly wrapped around his lower back, as her hands almost desperately reached for his head again, fingers roaming his hair and clenching his scalp with every sway of their hips. Always deeper, always longer, always stronger, and they danced without holding anything back, eyes locked, eyes closed, kissing when they could, stopping when they could not and it was alright because she had come to associate the feel of his scorching breath in the crook of her neck with pleasure and love and _home_ and even the sound of her own voice moaning his name like a prayer was beautiful.

She was floating away, a kite caught in the wind again, and the way Peter murmured her name against her skin and into her ear felt like a breeze, making her sway, pulling on her string, lost into his body and his warmth and everything was him and everything was sensations. Behind closed eyelids, she could see the sun rising in her mind, even though night was still queen for a few hours. But his light was stronger than her darkness; it had always been, melting the last of her fears and doubts away. She flew higher and higher into the rising sunlight, until that earth-shattering moment when her string broke.

And at last she was dancing freely with the wind.

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**FIN**

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**A/N**: Okay, who feels like taking a shower right now? XD This story almost killed me, any feedback would be greatly cherished and appreciated :')

Enjoy the Finale, guys, we can survive this! POLIVIA WILL CONQUER ALL!


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